“He’s standing right outside the shed door on the tape, demanding Dad’s papers.”

Vance tapped a clean silver ballpoint against the margin of the forged land deed dated August 14.

“He forged the land release,” Vance said quietly.

“The notary stamp on this page belonged to a clerk who’d retired five years before this date.”

“He figures I’m still sitting in your kitchen waiting for him to wrap up the estate,” I said.

Vance looked up at me over the top of his silver frames.